time to heal

it will take time to heal
the doctor says to you
as you sit in a paper gown
in her office.
she taps here and there
as you sit
atop the paper sheeted
platform, a thick green leather
seat, for sitting or lying.
your feet dangle a foot from
the floor.
the room is full of
instruments gleaming in
jars,
machines, waist high
pushed into corners.
boxes and tins
of things
she needs to make someone well,
but not you.
not this time.
it will take months, she says,
months of rest
and therapy.
of careful use.
she speaks Hindu too.
you saw that in her profile
before you came in for your
appointment.
but her English is fine, clear,
with a hint
of London in her lilt.
ice, she says. lots of ice.
now off with you.
be careful. cheerio.
see you in a few weeks.